


Hurricane Matthew

by agdhani



Series: Daredevil Crossover [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Gotham (TV), Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agdhani/pseuds/agdhani
Summary: Just a little something to fulfill a couple of LJ challenges... Crossover month, and 2 weekend challenges.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To follow this thread, as it crosses over with another one here on LJ...with the introduction of David Haller, check out http://archiveofourown.org/works/10527315.

The boy’s shout had drawn him in.

He should not have been here…not like this. The Devil, perhaps, but not Matt Murdock. Businesses along the docks, houses up and down along the coast, had their windows boarded against the gale force winds of the hurricane beginning to batter Havensport. Ships and smaller watercraft had been securely moored but if the waves and wind were as strong as predicted, even those were likely to get bumped around and potentially end up beached upon the shore. Most of the residents and shopkeepers had heeded the emergency personnel’s warnings and moved to higher ground, away from the shore, but there were always some, Matt knew, who insisted on remaining behind. Beneath the cover of fast moving black clouds, blinding rain, and the push of the wind, the Devil would have, perhaps, been a wiser choice when he had decided to come here.

But there had been no time for that. The wind and rain had been weaker then, when the cry had reached his ears; impulse and instinct pulled him out of the dry, warm comfort of his apartment to find the boy in his distress. He could have called the police, the fire department…anyone else…but not knowing precisely what building the boy was in, it had made the most impulsive sense to find him himself.

And so here he was.

The aluminum walled warehouse, full of tied bundles of empty wooden pallets and a half dozen or so smaller metal shipping containers atop a slatted plank floor that suggested, by the way it moved beneath his feet, that the area beneath was hollow, a basement perhaps. The whole structure felt hastily constructed, as if someone had been in a hurry to erect something to protect whatever cargo had arrived, or whatever cargo had yet to arrive. But the smell, acrid from oil, stale sea smells, and the sweat of exertion, as well as the taint of rust proved the structure was older than that. Hastily constructed at some point then, and no one had ever bothered to upgrade it to a sturdier, more solid structure.

“Hello! Anyone? Please…help me…”

The voice again. Young, but now that Matt could hear the pounding heartbeat, he determined this was no child but a teenager, perhaps fourteen to sixteen years old. The voice was muffled, coming as it was from a room at the front corner of the warehouse, likely an office or restroom, buried behind the mountain of empty pallets.

“I’m coming!”

The wind was beating against the corrugated aluminum, making Matt’s head pound with the unceasing thunder of it.

A single door without a knob, or rather, the knob had been broken off and dangled awkwardly to one side, held on by a single screw and nothing more. From the blown through the crack beneath the door, Matt’s assessment of this being a bathroom proved to be an accurate one.

“Stand away from the door.”

Sloshing footsteps moved back as instructed. He guessed, from the puddling around his own feet, that the storm had damaged the plumbing, or at least had flooded the system so that the toilet was backing up. Or maybe, he judged by the sponginess of the wood upon which he stood, it had been leaking for some time. He scowled, positioned himself for launch…

…and kicked the door open.

The shoddy structural integrity of the warehouse, however, combined with a strong enough gust of wind and the sudden pressure change caused by the opening of the door, caused a cracking of the planks upon which he stood. The young man leapt for the door…grasping at his rescuer’s hand, as they, the nearby pallets, and the filthy toilet crashed into the open basement below.

Rain poured through the jagged gash now torn into the roof above, the wind grabbing at one edge and pulling it backwards as the now unsupported plank of metal siding flapped and snapped. There was no dust to settle, as even the ground beneath the warehouse stood awash in several inches of water brought in by the storm and the long leaking plumbing. By the time the collapsing lumber settled, however, Matt was left largely buried beneath it, with a large gash upon his head caused by the split-open porcelain of the toilet.

“Wake up…mister…wake up…”

Matt groaned and clutched at his head with his one free hand. He had dropped his cane before kicking the door, and now had no idea where it was, and as his fingers raked his temples, he realized his glasses were missing too. He was surprised, judging by the pain in his skull, that he was even conscious. He cracked his eyes open, despite the splatter of rain upon his lids.

“I’m awake…” He tried to move and realized he was thoroughly pinned. Head turned sideways, he spat out the syrupy, copper taste of his own blood and croaked, “How bad…?”

The young man opened his mouth to speak, but something on the man’s face made him frown. “You’re blind…” Quickly he continued, “I’m sorry…I just…I didn’t think…”

“That a blind man would be out in this weather…fair assessment.” He was used to those comments by now, and truthfully, who would have been rescued by a blind man…if one could call this a rescue.

“Bruce Wayne…” The young man grasped Matt’s freehand in the closest approximation of a handshake their positions could afford them.

“Matt Murdock…” The name meant nothing to Matt, and when Bruce said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Murdock…” Matt could tell that Bruce did not know his name either.

“Nice except for the circumstances.”

“Let me…”

The pallets shifted as Bruce freed himself from the jumble he’d found himself in, eliciting another groan when the weight settled more fully upon Matt’s chest. He could still breathe, but not comfortably, and he suspected at least a rib or two had been cracked in the fall.

Bruce turned, saw the change in the position of the pallets, and dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said again, attempting to shift the pallets weight off of Matt’s chest. He did not have the strength for it, however, and his effort threatened to topple the pile in such a way that, if it fell, would surely crash upon Matt’s head.

“No…don’t…leave it for now.” Matt was reasonably certain he could free himself given time and the lessening of pain in his head, so long as he didn’t fully lose feeling in his pinned arm or his lower body. His concern at the moment was the gradually increasing level of the water in which he lay, water that had now reached the back of his ears. If it continued to rise, the risk of drowning was all too real. “Are you injured?”

“Not seriously…cuts and bruises. You?” Bruce could see blood on the top of the man’s head, but there was no way of telling what the condition of the rest of him was. “You might have a concussion…”

“I’ll be fine…” He lifted his head, turning it side to side to try to clear the water from his ears.

“Wait…” It was the moment Bruce noticed the rising water, and after several moments of splashing around in it, found enough broken shanks that he was able to prop Matt’s head and shoulders out of the water. It put him at an awkward angle, but for the moment, at least, he wasn’t going to drown. “Better?”

“Yes.”

“I think these are yours…” He positioned the glasses back upon Matt’s face; the metallic red lenses were cracked, no good for seeing, but Matt didn’t need them for that, and at least the lenses were intact enough to keep the rain from his eyes.

Suddenly Bruce chuckled, an awkward sound to relieve the tension. “Hurricane Matthew…”

Matt’s lips twisted wryly. How ironic.

He listened to the sounds above when a crack of thunder split the air Bruce too cocked his head to look at the open sky, unconsciously mimicking the expression on the other man’s face. There was a muted distant tinny sound, synthesized notes like an old video game, a tone that was surely a cell phone. Leaping to his feet with excitement, Bruce shouted, “We’re down here!”

“They won’t hear us.” The sound was too far away, the sounds of the storm to persistent and immediate.

“You heard me.”

Not having the heart to tell him that his hearing was above average, he listened to Bruce call out twice more, the strain in his voice and the change in his heartbeat and breathing indicating rising frustration and tension. Hoping to offer a distraction, Matt asked, “Can you reach the lip of the hole?” He could judge the distance of the roof, the distance of the unbroken flooring by the splattering of the rain upon it, but the pain was a distraction…and giving Bruce something more productive to focus on rather than wasting energy upon help that wasn’t likely to would at least calm him.

“I can’t jump that high…” His training with Alfred had given him strength and agility, but not enough to leap up and grasp the jagged lip some six or eight feet above him. “I could climb the pallets…go for help…” Even as he said it, however, he knew it was an impossibility. The pallets were on top of Matt, and climbing them would hurt him…and as wet as they were, they’d be dangerous for Bruce as well. Not to mention, he didn’t know where he was supposed to go once he got out, and he didn’t want to leave the blind man alone here. If Matt had not stopped to help him, they both wouldn’t be here…Bruce wasn’t going to abandon him here.

“Then climb…you can do it…”

“No…I’m not going to…”

“You have to…” The wind ripping through the exposed building snapped the linked chain from which a fluorescent fixture was suspended, and the swinging of the light stretched the already frayed cord. Much more of that and there would be sparks everywhere. Both of them risking electrocution was unnecessary. “You have to go for…”

“Help?”

A crack of thunder and the tearing off of a piece of the aluminum roof had masked the approach of footsteps on the wet wood above. The unexpected voice brought with it the pungent stink of high-class tobacco, the sort one would find in those thin, expensive cigars some people preferred. Whether pretentious or truly wealthy, the man with the post aftershave…discernable despite the wind…was not the sort of man that should have been out in this weather either…

…unless he was the owner of the warehouse, perhaps, or was a man of means with business here, dubious or otherwise.

The stranger removed his sunglasses from his face and tucked them into the pocket of his now ruined suit jacket. He’d been sent here on business, despite the weather, and as expected, those he was to meet had called only after he’d come out in the rain to say they weren’t coming. His employer was going to be pissed, but it wasn’t like it was his fault. He had the phone number in his phone memory to prove the call. Let the boss take it up with his partners.

He hadn’t expected the damage to the building. He hadn’t expected a voice crying out for help from the ten-foot wide hole in the floor. His first instinct was to walk away. This wasn’t any of his business. But the white cane upon the floor had peaked his interest, and one of the two in that hole was little more than a kid…a kid in expensive clothes of his own. Maybe there would be a reward involved for the rescue. At the very least, letting a kid and a blind man die out here in this wasn’t his style.

Never walk away from a situation that might, somehow, give you an advantage.

He jumped down into the hole, well away from the blind man and the pile of pallets that pinned him. “Fine pickle you’ve gotten yourself into,” he muttered smoothly, assessing the situation. “You’re that lawyer…Murdock isn’t it?” Now that he was close enough to see the trapped man more clearly, he recognized him, knowing he had seen him coming and going from the courthouse.

“I am…” Matt wasn’t anonymous by any means, but a lawyer tended to attract a certain degree of attention…particularly amongst troublemakers or those who needed help against such troublemakers. Something in the fellow’s smooth voice led Matt to wager he was not the sort of man to need help under most circumstances.

“Bruce Wayne…can you help us out of here?” Bruce didn’t know how, now that their potential savior was in the hole with them, but he offered his hand in greeting and expectation that the friendly gesture would win them favor.

“Bruce Wayne, eh?” Though his tone of voice indicated nothing, he knew that name…how could he not. In a place like Havensport, it was always a smart move to know who might potentially show themselves. This was just the sort of advantage he was hoping for. “Alvarez…I might be able to…maybe if we just…”

The floor above them cracked and the weight of the locked metal file that had been against the outer wall of the bathroom brought it through the splintered floor. While showering them all with water and whatever else was in the water, it missed landing on any of them. It did, however, strike the broken toilet tank, tossing it aside so that it struck Matt in the head. Behind his glasses, his eyes rolled back into his head and drooped closed.

“We have to get him out of here!” Bruce insisted, hoisting the chunks of porcelain as far away from Matt as he could get them.

Wiping his face clean of what was undoubtedly filth in this water, Alvarez muttered, “He isn’t going to be able to climb out…even if we get him free…and I don’t think you can hoist him up…”

Bruce scowled. If there was one thing he did not take kindly too, it was being told he could not do something. Not that he wasn’t allowed…but that he wasn’t capable. Too damned stubborn, Alfred had always told him.

Maybe so. But this was a matter of life and death. The wind and rain were increasing, and how much longer did they have before they were entirely without shelter, at the mercy of the storm?

“I don’t have a choice. I’ll get him out of here…somehow…even if you won’t help me.”

Alvarez raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help…but you do see where we’ve got a manpower problem, right?”

Squaring his shoulders, Bruce studied the situation, working through logistics in his head. Maybe, despite Alvarez’ slick demeanor and expensive suit, he was not a problem solver.

It never occurred to him that was the furthest thing from the truth. It never occurred to Bruce that he was being manipulated into the position of problem solver, that Alvarez was testing him to see just how bright the young man was. He did not know how much Alvarez already knew about him.

“First things first…we have to free him. If you can lift the pallets off of him…just enough…I can pull him free.” Bruce had been unable to push the pallets, but he could pull Matt from beneath them if they were lifted just a little.

Lips twisting with the barest hint of approval, Alvarez nodded. “Yeah…that should work…” His tailored, slick-soled shoes were going to make traction difficult, but he braced himself as best he could against the pallets in a stance that would give him enough leverage, he hoped, to lift them an inch or two, and then looked back over his shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready…”

With his arms under Matt’s shoulders hands hooked into his armpits, Bruce took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. “Okay…I’m ready.”

His feet slid as he had expected, but one of them found purchase on something solid beneath the water, and with all of his strength thrown into his arms, his hands, his shoulders and back, Alvarez shoved, tipping the bulk of the pallets away from them, off of Matt’s body enough that Bruce was able to struggle to pull him clear. The slippery wet wood, rough and bumpy beneath his hands, shifted; Alvarez fumbled his hold and the entire mountain escaped his grasp. He had just enough time to scramble backwards, falling into the water and avoiding getting his hands crushed between pallets just as the falling squares narrowly missed dropping onto Matt’s feet.

“I am so bored with this now,” Alvarez muttered in annoyance. Getting soaked by the hurricane’s rain was bad enough. Falling into what amounted to raw…if diluted…sewage, was beyond his tolerance threshold.

Still behind Matt, the man’s head in his lap where Bruce too had fallen into the water, the young man scowled at the seemingly callous remark of the stranger who had come down here to help of his own accord. It wasn’t like he or Matt had done anything to force him into action.

“Take off your shirt.”

Bruce scowled again. “Why?” It seemed a peculiar request for a stranger to make, and the possibilities of what that demand could mean made the hairs at the back of Bruce’s neck prickle and tingle.

Rolling his eyes, Alvarez snorted, “Because he’s bleeding…we need something to restrict the flow.

“Oh…” That made sense, and the logic of it made Bruce feel ashamed for jumping to the most wrong conclusion he could, given the circumstance. Truth was, he didn’t really trust anyone now…he wasn’t even sure he trusted the blind man. But he was going to have to trust Alvarez if they were going to get out of here. They had to work together.

Movement beneath his head, and the realization he could breathe, brought Matt awake once more. There was the tenderness of young muscle beneath his head, and a gentle rocking and the rustle of fabric against skin. “Bruce…”

“Hey…it’s okay…we’ve got the pallets off you…”

“Hold still…this is going to hurt…”

Alvarez tied the smaller shirt around Matt’s thigh, just above where one of the splintered pallets had sunk nails into him, but at least those nails had not remained there. Matt grimaced, but he was handling the pain better than most men would, gaining a degree of respect from Alvarez that had not been there before. “Might want to consider a tetanus shot once we’re out of here…

“Yeah…I might…” Matt pushed himself to sit, resisting Bruce’s efforts to force him prone again.

“You shouldn’t move…there might be internal…”

Matt shook his head. “There might be more than that soon if we don’t get out of here…” The metal siding of the building was struggling to maintain its hold upon whatever held it upright, a battle the wind was eventually going to win, and he could hear the electrical sizzle of the splitting wires above them. “It’s not safe here.” He looked in Alvarez’s direction. “You think we can these pallets pushed into a stack?”

Most were still bound together on at least one side; it would take some work to secure the disjointed collection into something like the pile it had been originally, but succeeding would bring them nearly even to the warehouse floor. They could climb and thought they would still be at the mercy of the elements, they would be free of this deathtrap.

“Bruce,” Alvarez said with a nod, “give me a hand.”

Nearly numb hand on the nearest pallet, Matt struggled to his feet.

“Mr. Murdock…”

“No time for it now, Bruce,” Matt said in a tone that reminded him of Alfred. “We need all of us if we’re getting out of here.”

Alvarez nodded. “He’s right.” The blind man might be in pain, but he was a fighter, Alvarez had to give him that much.

They pushed, they pulled. They slid in the slimy mud and fought to avoid the bits of debris the wind blew in their pit to swirl around them and assault their bodies. It took longer than it should have, with the weather and Matt’s injuries making the effort difficult, but eventually the last of the pallets was as in place as it was going to be.

“Alvarez…you first…get Bruce out of here…”

“You’ll never make the climb alone,” Bruce started to protest.

He grasped the young man’s shoulder as Alvarez began the climb. The pallets rocked unsteadily, but it wasn’t a far climb, and with the slats between pallets serving as the rungs of a ladder, he made it out of the hole in no time.

Matt knew that tone, the tone of a boy who had lost too much at too young an age and who did not want to lose anymore. It was a tone that made Matt nervous, as he knew he could never be what anyone…particularly a boy…needed…but this was not the time to go into that. “I’ll be fine, Bruce…I promise. I’ll be right behind you…go.”

Lighter of weight, limber, and surprisingly agile, Bruce made it up to the top faster than Alvarez had. The force of the wind had both men lying upon the ground, both reaching down into the hole though Alvarez expected he would be the one to pull the most weight. But hey, if the kid wanted to help, who was he to refuse.

“Alright…you’re turn.”

Matt had to rely on his upper body strength to make up for the weight his injured leg would not support. The awkwardness of the short climb made the stack of pallets teeter more than they had for the others, and by the time he was able to close his hand around Alvarez’s the pallets had shifted enough to give way beneath him. But he had one foot still on the thing boards, enough of a perch to propel himself up, his other hand in Bruce’s, so that the three landed in a soggy heap.

The roof of the warehouse was gone taking the threat of the fluorescent light with it, but it meant that somewhere else, electrical wires were exposed.. The front door had been partially torn from its hinges. “I’ve got a car…” Alvarez started, shouting over the wind. It might be suicide to drive it, but with the crushing sound outside of the nearest ships slamming against their moorings and waves crashing over the bulwark, spreading sheets of water through the opened door, across the floor, to begin a falling torrent into the hole where they had just been, driving out of here was no more dangerous than remaining. “I got somewhere I need to be…but I can drop you both somewhere…the hospital?”

“My place…” Matt didn’t want to risk a hospital, particularly when they were likely to be overcrowded with real emergency cases. He had what he needed to clean up his wound and stitch it up back in his cupboard. And getting into some dry clothes sounded like the best idea of all. I’ll see that Bruce get’s home when the storm passes.”

“Your place it is then.” Whatever his thoughts about the request, there was nothing in Alvarez’s tone or demeanor to reveal it.  
That was going to require learning where home was…and finding out just why the young man had been locked into that filthy bathroom to begin with. From Bruce’s silence, Matt didn’t think that prying those details was going to be an easy task.

But it was better that than leaving him in Alvarez’s hands. The man withdrew his sunglasses from his pocket and put them back on his face. He might have saved their lives…but that still didn’t mean Matt could trust him.

And it was obvious to him that Bruce didn’t trust him either.


	2. 2

“I was kinda hoping for a fireplace…”

The constant drip…drip…of water into a pot near the window, a tinny sound at first that changed in pitch and tone as the container gradually filled, was irritating to Matt’s senses, but compared to the roar of the storm outside, it was a minor annoyance. He would have to get that fixed once the hurricane had passed, but he imagined the apartment owners would take care of it, would have their hands full of other repairs, major and minor, throughout the complex. At least the room was otherwise dry, if not particularly warm, but now that their wet clothes were hanging in the bathroom to drip dry, along with the towels they’d used to sponge the storm from their skin, they would warm up gradually.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “This is the best I can do…” He’d picked up the tiny kerosene cooktop when the storms arrival had been deemed imminent. Normally he would have waited the worst of it out without such luxuries as meals and heat, but some inner sense had told him he would need it this time…and coming back to the apartment to realize that the widespread power outage had extended to his apartment as well had proved his point. The small unit sat upon the floor where the coffee table had been; the floor had been deemed a more stable surface with the threat of the wind ripping the boards from the sea-facing windows, smashing the glass and knocking lighter objects askew. Together, though Matt was still favoring his injured leg, they had moved the sofa, the chairs, the coffee table, and even the dining table to help serve as a barricade and wind break, should the worst happen. Now, seated on the sofa cushions with their backs against the plush chairs, the cooktop in front of them, both wearing sweatpants and hoodies, they had the hopes of warmth and safety until the storm was over.

“Oh no…” Bruce said hurriedly, adjusting the baggie hoodie around his neck before wrapping his hand back around the mug he held. Matt, having just come from the bedroom, was toweling his hair; he found his way to the fort-like barricade without bumping into anything. “I don’t meant to sound ungrateful…this is good. This is better than…”

Better than before. Better than out there. And the man’s hospitality of dry clothes, a heat source, and the cup of coffee in his hands, was a welcome blessing. It was nice to know that someone could be kind without knowing who he was.

At least, Bruce assumed Matt did not know. He had made no mention of the Wayne name, not shown any recognition of it earlier.

The ceramic cooking bowl upon the cooker was beginning to sizzle as the chili warmed. The aroma made Bruce’s mouth water…and his growling stomach reminded him just how long it had been since he had eaten. Correction, he sighed, putting the mug down to stir the pot rather than continue to allow his host to do all of the work. Bruce had helped thus far, but as this wasn’t his home, he knew where nothing was…and he hadn’t wanted to seem presumptuous before. The least he could do was stir the pot of chili.

“I know what you meant…” Perhaps it was manners, as the young man had the air about him of someone raised in polite society. Or perhaps it was something darker. Whichever it was, Matt had made not of Bruce’s penchant for easy apologies, honest ones not flippant ones said because they were expected. Such honesty was the proverbial breath of fresh air after the turmoil his life had recently been.

“Once the power’s back, we’ll have better heat…and you’ll be able to call your parents.” Matt had already tried his cell phone while in the bedroom, but the storm had knocked out cell reception as well as standard land line communications, along with the power, leaving Havensport’s residents in darkness with the roar, rumble, and whistle of the hurricane.

If Bruce minded the relative darkness of a room lit only by the glow of the cooktop and kerosene flame, he did not speak of it.

“My parents are dead.” Bruce’s voice was low, the words flat and dull as the covered the poignant ache beneath them, and Matt realized those were words the boy had said too many times. His parents had been absent from his life for a very long time.

“I’m sorry.” Matt reached for the bowl of chili being offered without Bruce mentioning. Bruce quirked his brow but did not mention it. “I lost my father when I was nine. I know how that feels.”

Removing the now empty cooking bowl from the heat, placing it on Matt’s discarded towel so that it would not scorch the floor and what remained within would not become burned to the sides, Bruce relaxed back against the cushions behind him. “How did it happen…if you don’t mind my asking.?”

“He was shot…in the alley outside our home…on his way home from a match…he was a boxer…”

Bruce frowned. “Mine were killed in an alley too…we were on our way home from the opera…”

Opera. That supported Matt’s deduction that Bruce had come from an upper class background. “We…so you were there…you saw it happen…?”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod Matt could not see. “Did you…?”

“No…I heard it…I ran to him…but he was gone when I…”

“And your mother?”

“I never knew her. My father said she took vows…became a nun…but…?” Matt shrugged. While there had been no reason for his father to lie to him about that, Matt had no idea if it was true or not. Perhaps she too had died violently and the tale had been the only story kind-hearted Jack Murdock had been able to stomach.

“So we’re both alone…” Bruce found that oddly comforting.

“You don’t have anyone…? Who’s been taking care of you since…?” Surely someone had to be. There was nothing about Bruce to suggest that he had been living rough on the streets.

“There was…I remember…Alfred…but that was before…” He gritted his teeth and stopped speaking. He remembered the others…Ray and Tony in particular…telling him not to trust anyone with the truth. Unaffiliated, unowned clones were locked up…put down…sold into slavery and servitude. Ray had directed him to Havensport…said he would be more likely to find safety there then anywhere else…but that did not mean Bruce was entirely ready to trust the very first person he had met.

Even if Matt Murdock was a kindred spirit of sorts. What were the odds of the two of them finding each other in the heart of this storm?

Matt felt his fear, his anxiety, in the sudden racing of his heart, the sudden rush of blood through his veins, the abrupt choking on air and swallowed words. Some sort of trouble had been the wind in the sails that had brought Bruce to Havensport…just as it had once done to Matt. But Bruce was a boy, in no way prepared to fight whatever trouble that had been…or was.

Maybe, when the power returned and they’d had a good night’s sleep, Matt would seek more answers, either from Bruce, from the internet, or on the docks. Likely he would try all of them. For now, as he took the empty bowls to the sink to let them soak…surprised there was still running water…he wouldn’t push for details.

“You’re safe here, Bruce. The other bedroom’s yours as long as you need it. And if you let me…if you trust me…I can help…”

“How?” Bruce asked skeptically.

“It’s what I do.” Matt had his secrets too. “Why don’t you get some sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Bruce fidgeted and eyes the doors to both bedrooms. He was not afraid of the dark, not afraid of the storm, but he felt unsettled in this strange place, unsure of his place in the world, and did not want to be alone.

“We should sleep here,” he said. “You know…share the stove’s heat…”

Hearing it for the excuse it was, the desire not to be on his own just yet, Matt nodded and got up. “Good idea.” Two limping trips from the bedrooms back to their camp provided pillows and blankets for both of them. Bruce had moved the cooktop far enough away so that they were not likely to kick it in their sleep and had turned the flame down as low as it would go so that the heat would last longer.

“Goodnight, Bruce,” he said as the boy arranged his pillow and tucked his blanket around him to keep out drafts. “The world will look better tomorrow…brighter…cleaner…”

“How do you know?”

Matt chuckled at the hint of teasing in those words and smiled to himself that Bruce, whatever his doubts and fears and troubles, had not succumbed to their darkness. “I just know.”

“Good night, Matt.”

Bruce stared at the catch pot, listening to the steady drip, and after a long, deep sigh, decided that Matt had to be right. After the storm, the whole world would be clean again. The lights of future promise would reemerge and his world would shine again. Life had to get better.

Thanks to Matt Murdock, it already had.


End file.
